


My Master's Wife

by Indigo_Rose_227



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:54:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26518546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Indigo_Rose_227/pseuds/Indigo_Rose_227
Summary: In an alternate universe Danarius marries Lady Ariana Hawke (Amell). Fenris can't imagine what Danarius is plotting, and pities the poor woman as she is forced to submit to a cruel husband. Despite Danarius's treatment Hawke shows resilience and kindness while casting aside traditional roles between slave and master. Fenris finds his feelings changing from quiet admiration to intense attraction. Hawke herself feels torn by her fear of her husband and the growing feelings she has for the handsome elf that knows more about her pain than anyone else. In time they both have to decide between ignoring their growing passions or submit and have an affair under the nose of one of Tevinter's most brutal magisters.Tags will change as chapters are added.There are allusions to rape however there are no explicit scenes. The act occurs "off stage".
Relationships: Fenris/Female Hawke, Fenris/Hawke (Dragon Age)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 25





	1. The Wedding

Fenris hates weddings.

Slaves do not dream of such things. Especially slaves that are pets of Tevinter magisters. Weddings only serve to remind him that marriage is a world he will never be able to enter.

He fidgets in his new outfit. A black jacket with high collar fitted over a stark white shirt. The arms are carefully tucked into his black gauntlets. He flexes his fingers and watches the claws curl towards his palm, the metal glistening in the lamplight. Finally, a pair of black leggings trailing down to his usual bare feet. For all accounts he could almost pass for a guest. Except anyone that knows Danarius for five minutes knows about the scowling elf that follows him everywhere.

Fenris, “the little wolf”.

He sighs and subtly rolls his shoulders. He’s been standing here forever. Danarius has no best man, he has a Fenris instead. Danarius stands next to him in front of the cleric while some verse of the canticle is spoken. The heady smell of incense, the low light in the room, and the drone of the cleric is making him drowsy.

Finally, the doors open revealing a bright light and the bride steps into the room. All eyes are on her, and in true Danarius fashion he has invited almost all the important magisters. Rather than wilt under their gaze though she stands up straighter, head held higher and approaches the altar to stand next to Danarius. Her lady’s maid follows behind her and takes her place next to her. The woman passes her bouquet, crystal grace and sprigs of dark purple royal elfroot, to the maid.

Unlike Fenris who is dressed in black and metal she is clothed in soft white fabrics that give an air of innocence. Danarius has carefully groomed them both to represent a specific image. She, the naïve, virginal wife who needs protection. Him, the blade of death behind her that threatens anyone that would covet Danarius’ property.

His hands twitch in irritation at the thought. It’s all pageantry for Danarius. Everything is a show to give specific glimpses into Danarius life to either provoke envy or fear. No better example lay in the lyrium brands that burn under Fenris’ clothes.

When Danarius lifts her veil Fenris is taken aback.

She doesn’t look like a Tevinter woman. Her light blonde hair is twisted into an ornate bun with strings of pearls encircling her head like a layered tiara. She looks to Danarius with eyes as blue as the crystal grace. She wears enough makeup to enhance her features but not overpower. Fenris wonders if her lips really are _that_ pink.

She holds her small hands out and Danarius takes them in his large ones. She’s shorter than Danarius, even shorter than Fenris, but not by much. It doesn’t stop her from radiating a confident energy.

_‘Danarius will be sure to strip her of that before the honeymoon is over,’_ Fenris thinks darkly.

She smiles demurely at Danarius and her eyes seem hopeful. This is the first time she is meeting her husband to be. Up until two months ago no one knew Danarius was getting married let alone looking for a spouse.

Fenris can’t help but feel pity for the poor woman, and a deep curiosity to what Danarius’ plans are with the arrangement.

The cleric begins booming out the wedding vows.

“Do you Lady Ariana Hawke of the Amell family take Danarius to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do,” she says softly.

“And do you Magister Danarius take Lady Ariana Hawke to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

Danarius smirks at her and casually answers.

“Yes, I will.”

Her eyes flash with an storm of emotions before quickly returning to a state of calm. Was that fear that Fenris saw?

The cleric repeats everything in Tevene, and the couple leans forward for a short, almost awkward, kiss. Danarius and Ariana proceed down the aisle with Fenris and the maid behind their respective master.

Fenris looks to the little elf woman. He only met her once before when Hadriana obsequiously made a show of gifting a slave from her house, Orana, to serve the new mistress. Orana and a few guards left the following day to Kirkwall to fetch the woman and escort her back to Tevinter.

He makes a mental note to ask Orana about this new mistress of theirs. He also wants to gauge if this elf slave is perhaps a spy trained by Hadriana to get information from Danarius’ household. He breathes a soft sigh through his nose.

‘ _Please don’t let her be a spy. I am so tired of killing them,’_ He think in exasperation.

****

At the manor it’s a clothing change before guests arrive. Fenris is stripped of his clothes except for the gauntlets and he dons a pair of loose white linen breeches. They hang low on his hips to draw one’s eyes downward. _How low do those brands go?_ An unspoken question Fenris sees throughout the night as he ogled like a whore at the docks. His marks are on full display and in dimming summer sunset they have a golden glow. He’s just thankful that this time Danarius didn’t order his skin be oiled this time.

The gauntlets remain as an unspoken threat to Danarius’ guests. It’s rather difficult for Fenris to perform menial tasks while wearing them. But, as always, a show of power elicits fear from Danarius’ guests which pleases his master to no end.

“Yes,” Fenris’ presence seems to say, “I am a mere humble servant. However, I am ready to kill any one of you if my master so commands.”

So here he is: a mighty warrior, wearing metal gauntlets ready for battle, chest bared for all to see, holding a god damn bottle of wine like a common house boy.

He stands near the new couple, who are lounging on Antivan silk pillows, holding a bottle of _Aggregio Pavali_. His emerald green eyes scan the room for any possible threats among the crowd. Finding none for the moment he turns his attention back to the small group in front of him. A fat magister who is already red faced from too much alcohol raises his empty glass to Fenris and shakes it as a silent command. Carefully, as if performing delicate surgery, Fenris raises the bottle and expertly pours the chilled red wine without spilling a drop.

He reads the quick glances both women and men cast his way. It does not matter. Any of them who may be so foolhardy as to lust after him were too terrified to make any kind of move. Though he does not know if they are stilled by the threat of what Danarius would do or what he might do himself. The barest half smile graces Fenris’ lips at the thought of that. Despite being a slave there is something about him that makes even some magisters quake, even for a moment, and that pleases him.

His attention is brought to Danarius who hoists his own glass up behind the neck of his new bride. Those thoughts must have been too much of a distraction though as an errant drop of the cold wine hits the back of the Ariana’s neck. She reflexively shivers and looks up to Fenris. Those mesmerizing blue eyes meet his, and he sees fear. Clenching his teeth for a moment he breaks his gaze lest he somehow offend his new mistress. He doesn’t know what kind of slave owner she will be, but if she is with Danarius then it won’t take long for her to be sharpening her claws on any person under her rank.

He focuses his attention to the room once again. Watching a room full of magisters and their guests crooning congratulations to the couple for hours is tedious to say the least. However, when out of earshot a very different dialogue is playing out. Fenris notes that the most unflattering things are discussed in Tevene. Those not from Tevinter rarely know the language and they are preying on that. Ariana keeps giving the sweetest smiles to those that coo to her in Tevene, even if they are calling her an ugly sow.

“Who even is she?”

“Well you know what he does to slaves…it makes sense that no respectable Tevene woman would want him.”

“She is far too pale. She looks almost sickly even next to the slaves!”

“I hear she’s from a noble family that sold her to Danarius to pay their debts!”

“Danarius actually wanted a woman from outside our families. After all that lyrium branding nonsense who knows what wild ideas he has this time.”

“She’s apparently from Ferelden where her family all died from the blight.”

“It was her poor uncle that took her in. Such a horrible girl he just had to marry her off right away!”

“Hopefully she’ll birth him a child within the year and he can dump her off as some soporati’s concubine. A Fereldan, really!”

“Bringing a barbarian into our bloodlines? I don’t care if she is a mage, their children will be mongrels at best.”

Fenris closes his eyes for a moment to prevent anyone from seeing them roll. A mage. Of course, Danarius would marry another mage. Usually Magisters carefully select their mates based upon generations of breeding and careful considerations as to the traits a desired child will have. Danarius must have something special planned with this coupling, but what?

_‘These are not proper thoughts of a slave though. Never question your master at all, head down, speak only when spoken to, give in to their every desire.’_ Opening his eyes Fenris catches Danarius casting a predatory glance his way and repeats to himself. _‘Every desire.’_

Fenris has no love of mages. In Tevinter the most powerful ones are in the magisterium, and those in power tended to be horrible people. It is hard not to feel that those two groups will always be intertwined with each other.

Even Ferelden has its own strange brand of blood magic. After all an Arl Red Cliff had the scandal of his own son learning blood magic from a tutor! The Arlessa was so worried about the Circles that she allowed her son to become an abomination instead.

_‘Hopefully this woman doesn’t dabble in that sort of perverse magic but knowing Danarius she probably runs her own cult,’_ He growls internally.

No, all mages were just as likely to be selfish and destructive as the Tevene magisters be they from Free Marches or Ferelden.

_‘And soon they will breed even more of them,’_ Fenris thinks angrily, quite sickened at the idea of a horde of little Danarius children running around the house.

The bride does not drink her wine despite it being such a fine vintage. She merely swirls it absently in her glass while she slowly looks around the room.

When the gong sounds for the party to move in for dinner she stands quickly, Danarius gives her a tight-lipped smile at that and she freezes in place. Danarius always goes first. The social damage already being done she waits for him to stand before moving again.

Not knowing what to do with her glass she turns to Fenris with a pleading look in her eyes. She seems like she wants to say something, but ends up asking: “Would it be alright to leave this here or do I take it in?”

Her voice is soft, and Fenris must strain to hear it as she practically whispers her question.

“If you leave it on the table, mistress, the servants will clean up when the guests are in the other room,” he says in a carefully measured tone.

She nods and casts a small smile to him. His eyes lock with hers again; he sees the fear from before but also a deep sadness. He gives a single nod and strides past her to follow his master into the dining room. He hears the clink of the glass being set down on the table as she hurries to match his steps so that she won’t be late for dinner.

It takes a while for each of the guests to be seated, and she takes her place next to Danarius. He sits at the head of the table, and the next highest-ranking magister sits at the opposite head. Fenris takes his honorary place behind Danarius and the service began. Several courses of dinner are served while the guests murmur amongst themselves. More gluttony, more words, more deceptions. 

It maddens him, the upper of echelons of Tevinter society getting stinking drunk and gorging themselves on expensive food until they are fit to burst. There are slaves toiling in the kitchen with barely enough to eat and here’s another altus consuming in one serving what would be used to feed three slaves for a day. And the lust that oozes from these people. Eyes looking all around sizing up each other’s wealth and prestige based on looks and title. More affairs are started at wedding receptions than any other event.

_‘Disgusting.’_ he says to himself.

He expertly stifles a sneer. An impudent slave does not last long in the good graces of even the kindest masters, and Danarius is no kind master

At the end of the affair, as the last of the guests are making their farewells and well wishes, Fenris watches as Danarius escorts Ariana up a long staircase towards the bedroom wing. He closes his eyes and takes a steadying breath. Watching his master consummate a wedding night was not on his top 10 list of things to do before he dies, but Danarius insisted on it earlier that morning when briefing his “little wolf” about the day’s events.

****

“You wish for me to…be in the room with you…with your new bride?” Fenris had asked quite appalled at the idea.

“Yes, well since I’ve never met the woman who knows what plans she may have in store. Just in case she turns out to be an assassin or a desire demon in disguise I want my favorite bodyguard on duty in case I need him,” Danarius replied while stroking Fenris’ cheek gently, moving a lock of silver hair from his eyes.

Fenris knew that this had more to do with Danarius wanting to show off another display of power. He wasn’t willing to fuck the woman in front of the whole of the magisterium. No, that would be like sharing a new toy. Danarius wanted to claim his new prize in front of the one piece of property that he valued more others.

Fenris felt like throwing up, but instead gave a head nod and said that obsequious phrase: “Your will is my own, master.”

****

Danarius leads Ariana to his bedroom. A massive bed is up against the far wall, covered in white silk sheets. The blankets are turned down to leave the entire bed exposed. Even from behind Fenris sees her shoulders tense at the sight the bed, knowing what is to come.

To the right is what can be construed as a miniature study. It boasts a well-stocked bookcase, a writing desk, and a fine high-backed chair next to an oil lamp. Strangely, Fenris notes, that a bottle of Antivan brandy and two glasses are on a serving tray on the writing desk.

To the left, on the floor, is a low table with several cushions surrounding it. Danarius occasionally takes his breakfast there. He guides the lady to sit on one of the cushions before sitting down himself. Danarius nods to Fenris who shuts the door with a resounding thud and stands in front of it. Lady Hawke is truly trapped, and from the tremors Fenris sees she knows it.

“Now, my lovely wife,” Danarius begins. “I know this is all overwhelming for you: finding yourself in a new land, with a new husband, and position. Let me put your fears to rest my dear, so long as you do as I say you will live a life of luxury you couldn’t imagine.”

_‘Not many can imagine a life in Danarius’ household. Not many want to,’_ Fenris thinks bitterly.

“So,” Danarius says with a small clap and smile. “Why don’t you serve us some of that fine Antivan brandy up there?”

Both Fenris and Ariana are confused as to who he is speaking. Ariana looks to Fenris behind her with a wary look.

“If you could please -,” She begins, but Danarius strikes her hard across the face.

She crashes down onto the cushion with a yelp. He grabs the ornate bun her blonde hair is wound into and lifts her head by it.

“When I tell you, I want you to do something you do it yourself!” He hisses before shoving her head back down onto the soft surface. She lays there for a moment before his commanding voice bellows “I’m still waiting!”

She scrambles to her feet and hurries to the table where she picks up the tray. Fenris sees that her left cheek is already becoming pink and swollen. Her hands are shaking as she sets the tray onto the table and she almost spills the brandy as she pours. Danarius acts oblivious to it as he takes a long drink from the glass, eyeing her hungrily.

“See my dear, as I said, so long as you obey me you can enjoy all the finer things in life. This brandy is from Antiva, aged 50 years in only the finest oak caskets,” Danarius says with a dark smile.

She nods her head but does not fill her own glass.

Danarius spends several long moments staring at her, twirling the crystal glass in his fingers. The light from the oil lamp casts dancing rainbows on the dark table surface.

“Take off your clothes now,” he says.

She pauses only for a moment before standing. She pulls the laces of her dress when he stops her.

“Stand in the light,” he commands.

She moves towards the desk and glances to Fenris. She looks embarrassed that he is still in the room. She hesitates again which draws a warning growl from Danarius. Fenris looks to the floor partially from respect and partially from pity for what this woman is about to endure.

She dutifully strips down to her small clothes, and Fenris hears Danarius give a hum of appreciation.

“I’m told you are a virgin is that correct?” He asks as casually as if he were asking the weather.

“Y-yes, ser,” Ariana says in a soft voice. “I’ve never laid with another man or been touched by one.”

“Good,” he murmurs before standing and approaching her.

Fenris looks up to see Danarius stroking her cheek almost affectionately.

“I’m a man with unique tastes, my dear. I expect that you will satisfy your wifely duties by fulfilling my desires,” he says in a low voice.

Her large blue eyes are locked on his, and she nods without speaking a word.

“Good,” he says, before giving her a chaste kiss on the lips.

He guides her to the bed where a large, flat, black box is nestled at the foot of it. He opens the clasps and displays the contents to his new bride. Fenris recognizes the box and knows what inside. He knows why she suddenly stares at Danarius with a look of terror on her face. Fear is the most powerful aphrodisiac for Danarius, and Fenris knows it. He shuts his eyes, but he can’t shut his ears to what happens over the next few hours.

He doesn’t know when, but at some point, he hears Danarius calling over to him. His eyes snap towards the bed and he sees Danarius languidly reclining on the pillows. He’s naked and not ashamed of it. Ariana is next to him, on her side, and curled up into herself. It’s hard to see if she’s breathing at all.

“My bride is quite tired from our activities. Please get her maid and have her taken to her room at once,” Danarius says.

Eager to leave the room Fenris turns on his heels and heads into the hallway. Her room is down the hallway on the other side of the wing. Danarius values his personal space so he set her up with her own suite. Close enough to summon when needed. Not so close that she is privy to his _other_ activities.

Fenris doesn’t bother knocking before entering. The room is dark except for the bright moonlight outside. A large vase with her crystal grace bouquet sits on her vanity giving the room a sweet smell. It almost washes out the smell of blood, brandy and that special musk Danarius exudes. Almost, but not quite.

Fenris strides across the room and knocks on a hidden door that is in the far-right wall. It opens slowly and the wide eyes of Orana peer out at him.

“Yes, ser?” She asks.

“The mistress requires assistance to return to her room tonight,” he says gruffly.

Orana’s eyes widen and she nods. “Right away, ser!”

Turning to leave Fenris has a thought and says over his shoulder, “And bring the poor woman a robe.”

Orana quickly follows him holding a silvery silken robe in her arms. When he pushes open the door, he hears her audibly gasp.

_‘She’ll need to work on that.’_

Fenris takes his place to the side of the door and Orana tiptoes to her mistress’ side. Danarius still doesn’t bother to cover up and flashes Orana a large smile. With soft words Orana coaxes Ariana to stand and covers her up. She is unable to stand up straight and takes Orana’s hand who guides her back into the hallway. When she is out of the room Fenris again looks to the bed and notes the blood on her side of the bed which extends under Danarius. Danarius sees his gaze and follows it down. 

His cruel grin widens once more and he says, “Virgins can be such messy business.”

Fenris does not acknowledge the statement.

Danarius waves him away with his hand. “I am tired little wolf. Please have a slave girl wake me up at 10 this morning. I will expect you in the dining room waiting for me then.”

Fenris nods once, and again exits the room. His steps down the hall are silent. He doesn’t know what pulls him to Ariana’s room. He wouldn’t dare intrude or even ask if she were ok.

_‘I’m just checking on things to make sure the floor is safe before retiring for the night,’_ he tries to convince himself.

The door to her room is ajar and he sees a familiar green glow coming from it. He peers in to see her sitting on the edge of the bed with her back to him. Orana is kneeling on the floor with a bloody washcloth that she is using to clean Ariana’s legs. Ariana’s hands are covering her face as green tendrils of healing magic wash over her skin. When she lowers her arms Orana gives her a small smile

“That’s wonderful my lady, you can’t even tell anymore… would you like me to get you a mirror?”

“No, thank you Orana. You’ve been wonderful to me. I think I can handle it from here,” she replies with a reassuring squeeze of Orana’s hand.

Orana looks unsure but stands anyway. Her eyes flick up to see Fenris standing at the doorway. He gives a solemn nod which she returns, and he pulls the door shut.

He makes his way down to his own quarters in the servant’s hall.

_‘I pray he does not make that a regular occurrence,’_ he thinks in disgust and anger as he lays down in his bedroll for the night.

He falls into a dreamless sleep where fortunately her screams do not follow him.


	2. The Next Day

Like clockwork Fenris wakes at 6 in the morning. Despite only getting a few hours sleep his internal alarm clock is nothing if not punctual.

He lays on his thin mattress enjoying this quiet moment to himself. A threadbare blanket drapes over his waist. It has so many patches now it’s hard to remember what the original color had been. He takes a deep breath of the stale air. A single window high on the wall is sealed shut so his room is always stifling, especially in the summer.

Fenris tosses the blanket across the room and pushes himself up. He wears linen trousers to bed. The cloth belt has come undone and he lets them fall to the ground as he stands. The lyrium brands snake down his belly before branching down his inner and outer thighs. A few artful lines trace delicate patterns along his manhood.

He thanks the Maker that he does not remember the day he received his markings. Whoever he had been before was dead and gone, and on that day Fenris was born.

A dresser sits across from the door, and he rifles through the top drawer. A special closet upstairs holds his fancier and more elaborate clothing. Each one Danarius had painstakingly tailored to complement Fenris’ physique and give impressions of strength or power. This small dresser holds only underwear and simple clothing. He hurriedly dons a clean pair of boxers. He doesn’t want to linger in the nude for long. Nakedness is the peak of vulnerability, and he hates it.

His leather outfit has been cleaned and left folded on top of the dresser. He takes his time donning each piece, inspecting them for new holes. Satisfied, he opens his door as quiet as possible and steps lightly into the hall. A winding staircase leading upwards is across from his room. It allows him quick access to all the floors if he is needed to spring into action right away. Bitter memories flood his mind of having to make late night “special visits” to Danarius’ room. He shuts his eyes and lets out a long sigh. He would rather face a hundred assailants than spend another night in Danarius’ bedchamber.

He strides down the hallway, silent as an assassin of the Crows. He catches the delicious smell of breakfast and his mouth waters. Ham, eggs, toast, and fried potatoes.

He enters the dining room which is attached to the back of the kitchen. A few maids and houseboys are scarfing a quick meal before they begin their chores. The rest are already busy about the house cleaning from the party last night. Once Danarius had left to bed his wife the rest of the guests quickly vacated the manor.

The cook goes over the inventory sheet for the day’s meals. She is a gaunt human woman named Meredith. She is exceptionally tall; a head and a half above Fenris. Her curly brown hair is stuffed under a white cap, but a few locks have managed to work their way free. She is having a heated conversation with the butler, Selvig.

“The master has to add more to the kitchen budget if he wants more than gruel and dried apples for breakfast,” Meredith says with a frustrated shake of her head, and another curl comes loose. “He hasn’t accounted for the cost of the wedding. We’re stretched thin as it is down here.”

Selvig, is an elf going on 70 years. Danarius’ father had employed him when he was a teenager. He knows every nook and cranny of the house, and many skeletons in Danarius’ closet. He keeps an iron grip on the staff, but still tempers his commands with kindness. Some chafe at his tough demeanor but it doesn’t take long to realize he is trying to protect them from their merciless master.

He frowns and holds his hands out in a placating gesture, “The master does not care. He says that if his food must come from his slave’s mouths then so be it.”

Meredith clenches the pencil in her hand and it snaps under the pressure. “As the master wishes.” She practically hisses.

She catches sight of Fenris and gestures to the table. “Leftover scraps from yesterday. Eat up. This will probably be the last good meal we have for a few weeks now.”

Fenris says nothing and grabs a plate. He takes very small portions. This meal must stretch to feed almost 50 slaves. Mutton, a dark rye roll, and a scoop of roasted vegetables. It’s all cold but he doesn’t have the luxury of caring.

As he eats he watches as two kitchen maids prepare breakfast trays from the hot food he had smelled down the hall. They give hearty portions of each dish on Ariana’s tray, along with a glass of fresh orange juice. Her arrival had been so sudden that they had no idea what she likes to eat.

As quiet as a mouse Orana slips into the kitchen and stands in the doorway.

“I’m here for the mistresses’ breakfast,” she says softly.

Fenris takes a moment to study the woman. She stands halfway in the doorway, her hands are clasped in front of her, and her head is bowed so that her eyes focus on the floor at her feet. She looks like a woman who has never received a kind word in her life. 

_‘Exactly the kind of slave I’d expect to come from Hadriana’s house,”_ Fenris thinks darkly as he takes another bite of the mutton. It has an herb crust and is smothered in its own gravy. It tastes wonderful. Meredith is exceptional in her craft.

As she grips the tray Orana says to Meredith, “The mistress said she didn’t want to be a bother, but she wants to know if she could have leftover mutton for lunch if there is any left from last night.”

Fenris sighs and scrapes the rest of his meal back onto the serving tray. The slave’s breakfast is getting smaller by the second.

Meredith looks at Orana quizzically before replying, “Of course if that’s what the mistress asks it can be done. She could ask for an entire suckling pig if that’s what she wanted.” She casts a glare at Selvig and growls. “We’ll find room in the budget one way or another.”

Orana nods and takes a step out of the kitchen before her eyes light up and she whirls around to speak to everyone in the room.

“Oh! The mistress also wants to say ‘Thank you so much for all your hard work on my wedding. It was lovely and it couldn’t have been done without you.’”

The room comes to a standstill; everyone stares at Orana with a look of bewilderment on their face. Danarius has never thanked anyone outside the Magisterium and has never expreqssed reliance on anyone for anything. Orana’s eyes widen and her cheeks flush red. She shrinks under the gaze of everyone in the room.

Selvig clears his throat and makes a motion to dismiss Orana, “Yes, well, let us know if the mistress requires anything else. Be off with you.”

Meredith hands Orana the tray and the woman practically runs from the room. Fenris watches her leave. He is curious to ask about the mistress’s condition, but knows it isn’t his place to inquire.

He hands his plate to one of the kitchen maids and goes to stand beside Selvig. He lowers his voice and murmurs, “Master Danarius wishes to be awoken at the 10 by a slave girl.”

Selvig shuts his eyes briefly, his face an unreadable mask. After a moment he opens his eyes and replies, “Of course. I will send Esme again. She handled it well last time.”

Fenris gives single nod and makes his way to the armory. There is a complicated lock on the door, but he needs no key. He places his hand on the door and channels the energy of his brands to his hand. It phases, and only a ghostly shadow remains. He reaches through the door to the other side. He turns the latch and the door clicks open. The room is small but has enough weapons to arm the entire household in case of an attack.

Once a week a few houseboys bring in wax and polish and exhaustively clean each weapon. There are swords, maces, pikes and even a few hammers. Everything one would need to defend a house from invaders. Fenris’ weapons are next to the doorway so that he may arm himself quickly. It is astounding that Danarius can keep his slaves from revolting, but like everything else he rules with fear. Any slave who verbalizes such a desire is immediately executed and their head is placed on a special pike in the exterior courtyards until it’s rots off or the smell becomes unbearable. Fear is a powerful tool that Danarius wields effortlessly.

Fenris dons his favorite sword. It’s thinner and lighter than the usual blade Danarius has him carry in public. It’s easier to maneuver and is less likely to damage the interior if he needs to use it.

*********

Fenris’ patrol through the house always changes. Last spring Hadriana slipped into the house and was there to greet Danarius in his library for dinner. She claimed it was because Fenris has the same predictable rounds so it was child’s play for her to avoid him. Danarius had been so furious he whipped Fenris to unconsciousness and denied him meals for two days. Afterwards, Fenris was much more vigilant.

_‘I feel like a Ferelden mabari,’_ he thinks in exasperation, _’always patrolling and guarding the house as though I were a mindless guard dog.’_

He quickly banishes the thought and walks through the front parlor. A silver glint catches his eye underneath one of the pillows. It is a large medallion. Silver serpents worked in concentric circles and holding a sapphire the size of a peach pit in their joined mouths. He briefly wonders how many slaves would have to be traded for a trinket some drunk magister absently left in someone’s house.

He feels a growing cold weight in his chest. How much longer could he live in such a twisted world? He briefly thinks about how he might escape this existence but pushes it quickly out of his mind. Suicide is not an option and he doesn’t think he could murder Danarius and get out of Tevinter before slave hunters would capture him and he would be publicly executed in the market square for his “crimes”.

He carries the medallion in his left hand, not daring to place it in his pocket lest he be caught with it concealed. He first checks the library which is on the main floor. It’s empty and dark. He wonders for a moment what secrets these tomes conceal. Having never being allowed to learn to read these things are a mystery to him. Shaking his head to dislodge the thought he goes towards the bedroom wing. Danarius’ room is quiet, but it is only 9. Fenris would rather not be in the area when Esme has the “honor” of waking their master.

Fenris walks past his new mistresses’ door. It completely quiet. He dares not open the door to check if she’s there lest he catch her in a state of undress. He pauses at that notion. After last night there wasn’t anything of her he hadn’t already seen, but still propriety had to be maintained.

He continues until he finds himself in the inner courtyard. It has a large fountain in the center and is filled with hundreds of different flowers. The pathway is lined with perfectly manicured rose bushes of all colors.

A few slave children are playing hide and seek in the bushes. Their parents are currently inside toiling. Danarius usually waits until they are old enough to handle basic chores before selling them off. Although Fenris knew he’d never get the chance he would never bring a child into this world. There was too much heartache for a family of slaves.

He follows the cobblestone walkway around a rhododendron hedge and stops in his tracks. Ariana sits on a stone bench, her breakfast tray beside her. She is smiling at a slave child and holding out a large slice of ham.

“Are you hungry?” She asks.

The young girl is no more than three years old. Her eyes widen and she nods vigorously.

“Have some then,” Ariana says and hands the ham to the child.

The little girl grins and darts off through the bushes towards the other children. A series of cheerful shouts pierce the otherwise stillness of the garden and then they go silent.

Ariana chuckles and looks from where the girl had seemingly melted into the foliage. When her eyes land on Fenris her cheeks flush bright red and she lowers her head. She seems to be particularly interested in a ladybug that’s crawling on her sandals.

Fenris raises an eyebrow and resists the urge to fold his arms. Slave owners do not behave this way. Proper ladies do not behave this way. She looks more like Orana than a proper Tevene lady. His heart softens a little as he reminds himself that she is Ferelden. She probably never saw a slave, other than Orana, before she came to Tevinter.

“Are you well, mistress?” He finally asks, trying to alleviate the strain between them.

She nods her head and squeaks, “Yes, thank you.”

He decides to risk impertinence and says, “You have no need to feel ashamed in front of me.”

Her eyes snap up to look at him. He is taken aback at how blue they look. They remind him of the skies in springtime.

“You were there though…when…I…,” she replies, her voice becoming quieter and he sees tears welling up in those blue eyes.

He raises a single hand to silence her. In the back of his mind his inner voice is shouting at him to stop. He is stepping outside his rank and he risks punishment.

“I may have been there but, as far as I’m concerned, I saw nothing. I merely stood guard during your wedding night,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. He is inundated with memories of his own torture in Danarius’ bed. “I will never speak a word of this to anyone, and I don’t think any less of you for what you went through.”

She sits still for a long moment; her eyes trained on him. Fenris shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot.

_‘Why isn’t she saying anything?’_ he wonders.

“Thank you….,” she says, and falters. “I’m sorry. I don’t know your name.”

“My name is Fenris, mistress. I am master Danarius’ personal bodyguard and now by extension yours.” He replies with a half bow.

“Fenris,” she says slowly, testing the word on her tongue. “You have my thanks, Fenris. I feel safer already.”

Her face brightens to a brilliant smile. Fenris is suddenly uncomfortable at the casualness of their exchange. He bows again, turns on his heel, and walks back towards the house. He passes by the children. They are gathered behind a honeysuckle bush. They have mud on their clothes and faces. A few have twigs in their hair. They are all quiet and patient, kneeling in the dirt as the oldest one tears small chunks of ham and doles it out so that each child gets a fair share.

Fenris steers himself downstairs to find Selvig and turn in the medallion. He pushes the entire conversation out of his mind. He will need to be on guard even more with this woman. That is the best option. Right?

***********

Later that night the slaves have their dinner of boiled oats and a mash made of old turnips. Meredith snuck in dashes of salt and pepper to help with the flavor. It is hard to choke down, but Fenris knows that by the end of the month it will seem like a holiday feast. As the maids clear the tables Fenris noticed that Esme is missing. He looks to Selvig, but the old elf’s frown tells him all he needed to know. Another slave died in the bed of their master. She will be replaced within a day, and life is supposed to go on like nothing has happened. Fenris angrily shoves his chair back and stands from the table. He glares at his empty plate and is tempted to throw it against the wall.

_“Danarius will one day pay for every slave who died at his hands,”_ Fenris thinks, but it is hollow. He has no idea if Danarius will ever face justice, but it helps him cope with the insanity of his life.

He stomps down the hallway, the few houseboys that are in his way quickly move aside. Everyone knows to give Fenris space when he was in one of his brooding moods.

He slams his bedroom door and lays his forehead against the cold wood while clenching and unclenching his hands. His lyrium brands spark like lightning. He wants to do _something_. He hates feeling so helpless. He takes several deep breaths to calm himself down. He needs to think things through and not just lash out. Rash decisions will do no one any good. 

As he comes down from his rage fatigue washes over him. He feels exhausted physically and emotionally. He peels his clothes off and drops them unceremoniously on the floor. He climbs under his blanket and tries to sleep, but his mind wanders to Ariana. A conflict is raging inside him. His survival instincts scream at him to treat her as any other slave owner: suspicious and vigilant of duplicity. However, she is not like any slave owner he has ever seen. She is kind and thoughtful. She truly seems to care for the people in her household. Fenris sighs and decides to put the matter aside for the time being. He will need his rest for tomorrow. Danarius and his new bride have an invitation to attend a dinner party at the house of the magister Gereon Alexius, and Fenris will be expected to be on duty all night.

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own these characters or the world they live in. Please leave a kudos if you enjoyed my writing.


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